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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22978420">What Do You Fear? (Tom Riddle x OC)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrystalAris/pseuds/CrystalAris'>CrystalAris</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Albus Dumbledore Bashing, American gone British, Death’s Friend, F/M, Hard to Earn, History Bashing, Lots of World Bashing, Orphan - Freeform, Religion Bashing (possible), Sacrifice, Slow Burn, Slow Updates, Suicide, Swearing, The World was Never Perfect, Word Bending, muggle bashing</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 16:14:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,761</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22978420</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrystalAris/pseuds/CrystalAris</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>I could hear the echoing sound of footsteps, before suddenly being jerked into the wall. "Why don't you fear death?!" He hisses. I can't read his expression. For all the years I've known Tom, this look was new. I understood his confusion, yes, but his anger, his fear... and something I was missing. I looked into his eyes, like I've always done. I've always told him the truth,  though it may have not been all of it. I watch as he sneers. Smiling, partly happy he got better and the other part saddened, "I welcomed Death with open arms, long before I met you.” </p>
<p>“...He too, rejected me."</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Tom Riddle/Original Female Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>37</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. So Tired</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">


        <li>
            Inspired by

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/20422127">In My Dreams</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amythesica/pseuds/Amythesica">Amythesica</a>.
        </li>

    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So this is my 1st story on Ao3, please be forgiving.</p>
<p>A special shout out to Amythesica who wrote In My Dreams, they inspired this fic, well more like introduced me to a remarkable Tom Riddle romance and many more Tom romance. I’m definitely a sucker for some remarkable villains to have a life more than being ‘evil’.</p>
<p>That’s what this story will be focused on, life sucks in more way than one. There’s more than one side to a coin and it never would be without both sides.</p>
<p>I hope this story will shed some light on what some others like to sweep under the rug. Some stuff mentioned may bother others, but I hope you’ll understand, </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“The first step in solving a problem is recognizing there is one”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>― Will Mcavoy</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I was tired.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>...So very, very tired.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tired of living.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tired of watching others go about, living their happy lives. Laughing with those smiles, the constant gossip. Thriving in ...this trash of a world. A world that speaks volumes upon volumes of peace. Promises of a better tomorrow.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Where?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Where is the peace everyone promised?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Where is the better tomorrow?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Species are dying just because 'they were in the way' 'it'll be good for business' 'tomorrow will sort itself out' 'don't worry, you make a difference, you'll leave your mark' 'of course I love you, the both of you' 'wow, Trump got elected'</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yeah. The world looks like utopia, doesn't it? Just like fashion, history is on repeat. This is the world I'm forced to live in. 'Ignorance is bliss' easily comes to mind. The greed I'm forced to watch as politics grow. I will admit the ARE properly named poli-TICs, bloody blood sucking parasites. I'm not the only one here who's 'tired', just look at all those school shootings.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>No.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>No.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>DON'T get me wrong.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They are tragedies.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They are sad and horrible tragedies.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They should have been prevented. They have no place in 'Utopia'. Right?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>This is the world we live in. The world I am tired of. The bullies written off as innocent victims, the tortured now get painted Red in blood. The blood of the 'innocenct'. How is it, in this Utopia, bullies get painted in innocent light, while the people like us get better down and blamed for Every. Little. Thing?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>We tried to stand tall.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>We tried to find another way. But you all just don't listen.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Why?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Why don't you hear us?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When we cry for help?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When we try to explain?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Why is it, when they whisper we get punished?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It can't be because we aren't good. We are always 'good'. Perfect in every way. Just like we're expected.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And Why do you only come when we fight back!? Why Do yOu OnlY CaRe WhEN dEatH iS iNVoleD!?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*wheeze* *wheeze* *wheeze*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>'Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will for ever shape me'</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Maybe this world is 'Utopia'.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A Utopia for birthing 'monsters'</p>
<p> </p>
<p>You may be wondering if I am one such monster. One of those that would gun down a school, in cold hard blood, murdering hundreds of 'innocents'.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Let's get one thing straight, there are no 'innocent'. Bystanders, yes. Peers? Yes. People that saw and did absolutely nothing? ...Yes.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>So. Am I a monster?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The answer.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Is.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>No.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But...</p>
<p> </p>
<p>That's the beauty,</p>
<p> </p>
<p>...isn't it?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>For how can a monster know what it is? How can it see what it's become in a world that lets monsters thrive?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>No.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>No. I have never attacked my school.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>No. I've never seen it happen.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I saw the news.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The One side they showed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The Attacks.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Not what lead to the attacks, the years upon years of torment and anguish that feed that 'monster' that caused this. I fail to see how no one saw this coming.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>After all those cries.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>After all those tears.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>What would you expect?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>If you had only Listened.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>We wouldn't be here.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I wouldn't be here.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Why do you refuse to listen?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>...</p>
<p> </p>
<p>...</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Again no one answers, even when I shout to the sky.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They are cruel.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>You are Cruel.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Why only take a glance?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Why do you sneer before walking away?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Why do, are you pulling out your phones?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Why?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Is it because I'm a coward?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Because I refuse to go out with a bang?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Is it so wrong that I want to be forgotten?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Is it wrong Not to fight?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>...</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Then what is right?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>What could possibly be 'right' when, all this feels so ...wrong.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>So very, very wrong.</p>
<p>...</p>
<p>...</p>
<p>...</p>
<p>I'm tired.</p>
<p>...</p>
<p>...</p>
<p>...</p>
<p>...</p>
<p>...So very, very tired.</p>
<p>...</p>
<p>...</p>
<p>...</p>
<p>...</p>
<p>...</p>
<p>...</p>
<p>And so...</p>
<p>...</p>
<p>...</p>
<p>...</p>
<p>...</p>
<p>...</p>
<p>I let go...</p>
<p>...</p>
<p>...</p>
<p>...</p>
<p>...</p>
<p>...</p>
<p>...</p>
<p>...</p>
<p>...</p>
<p>...</p>
<p>...</p>
<p>Before my world, thankfully, turned black.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. And Then I Woke Up</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>...</p><p> </p><p>...</p><p> </p><p>Pain.</p><p> </p><p>Searing pain.</p><p> </p><p>How can I be in pain? I shouldn't be able to feel anything.</p><p>...</p><p> </p><p>... or am I, by some horrible luck, alive? If so, I should feel crushed, flattened.</p><p> </p><p>No.</p><p> </p><p>Even then. I shouldn't feel anything.</p><p> </p><p>My back should be broken, crushed beyond repair.</p><p> </p><p>I should be numb.</p><p> </p><p>Very, <em>very</em> numb.</p><p> </p><p>I feel ...everything, and nothing, all at the same time. I can't seem to feel if I'm sitting or lying down. I can't move without bathing in flaring pain. I can't even open my eyes to the flashes of colors.</p><p> </p><p>...</p><p> </p><p>...Oh.</p><p> </p><p>When did I close them?</p><p> </p><p>Maybe I passed out instead. Was that the blackness? My eyes closing in hope only to be forced from a potential blissful happiness? I wanted to die.</p><p> </p><p>I <em>want</em> to die.</p><p> </p><p>I want to die in the cold.</p><p> </p><p>I want to be numb to the world I was, <em>am</em> forced to be in.</p><p> </p><p>My breathing is shallow and slow, like I am stuck in between conscious and sleeping forever. So very hard to breath, even if its just a reflex.</p><p> </p><p>Wrong.</p><p> </p><p>So very wrong. I shouldn't be able to breath at all, crushed by an invisible elephant.</p><p> </p><p>Even a whim couldn't have ended up so wrong.</p><p> </p><p>A flash of red, a wheeze, another breath and a cough.</p><p> </p><p>Doing what I can, not out of the will to live, but out of pure curiosity. I want to see what went wrong. Who could have followed me to bring me back, to 'save' me. Able to open an eye a sliver before slamming it shut once more.</p><p> </p><p>Red.</p><p> </p><p>Gray.</p><p> </p><p>Black.</p><p> </p><p>Oh.</p><p> </p><p>I relax, it would seem I <em>am</em> dead and hell officially exists.</p><p> </p><p>The burning, the pain of moving, could be explained by the eternal fires of hell. I can even hear the screams of others being torchered. Their begging and pleading falling on deaf ears. Souls rightfully damned.</p><p> </p><p>My crime,</p><p> </p><p><em>Existing</em> and so I except this punishment.</p><p> </p><p>...</p><p> </p><p>...Until I scream from my own pain. I don't know what caused pain to flood through out my body. Crushing, blood throbbing, every cell crying in my place. I don't move. There is no place for me. Not anymore. Everyone made that so very clear and no demon could give me what I so desperately want. What I have wanted before I died.</p><p> </p><p>...</p><p> </p><p>How cruel is 'Utopia'? How empty is an over filling world? I asked, I begged, I wished so desperately every day, every hour, <em>every</em> breath. When that didn't work I pushed, I screamed, I gave my opinions, I tried and <em>tried. Hell,</em> I even picked up a Pickaxe to move mountains only for the world to laugh and push back.</p><p> </p><p>'Obey.'</p><p> </p><p>'Be a <em>good</em> girl.'</p><p> </p><p>'No.' </p><p> </p><p>‘Once a bitch, always a bitch.’</p><p> </p><p>'Do you really think they would listen? Foolish girl.'</p><p> </p><p>Burning, the licking of flames, the world's wonderful hate.</p><p> </p><p>‘Praise be to god and good will towards man' the lies, promises broken, back—</p><p> </p><p>Hands with a gentle touch draw me away from my musings, however short it may have been. Somehow the simple touch results in more pain. A flaking pain that seems to crumble into dust. Even as the domino effect of pain seems to send me over the edge, a deep mellow voice seems to resonate around me, "You are where you're ment to be."</p><p> </p><p>A phrase that would normally be comforting in practically any other situation, a phrase that <em>should</em> have drawn terror from my very being, being here with imminence pain, a stranger, I should be <em>terrified</em>. And still, this <em>voice</em>, this deep, mellow, ...<em>calming</em> voice somehow gives me a <em>feeling</em> that I had thought I lost long ago.</p><p> </p><p>Dare I say it, I feel at <em>home</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Like I <em>belong</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Like there <em>is</em> a place for one as lost as I.</p><p> </p><p>This voice, in the lick of the heat scorching my blistering skin, with a touch so gentle that it can freeze my pain, seems to welcome me with its touch.</p><p> </p><p><em>Me</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Of all people, <em>me</em>.</p><p> </p><p>I want to be closer. I don't want to be let go. I want the voice to say more.</p><p> </p><p>A scream.</p><p> </p><p>Another scream, several in fact, cause the welcome feeling to disappear. Like a whisper, it was gone as if it was never there. Seeming to add another tear in my empty heart, a lost hope once again torn away. The cool relief it gave me, vanished. Only leaving behind a numbness, and the sad feeling of indifference. Once again forgotten, lost in the crowd, left alone to suffer.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Alone.</em>
</p><p> </p><p><em>Forever</em> alone.</p><p> </p><p>Crashing forms around me, I <em>still</em> can't see.</p><p> </p><p>There's too much pain to even <em>try.</em></p><p> </p><p>Shouts begin to confuse me, the sound of earth falling, crumbling followed by more frantic sounds. A shrill shriek of terror muffled by something as somthing larger smashes by my side sending multiple ripples of pain.</p><p> </p><p>More hands, but different.</p><p> </p><p>Gentle, but harsh.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Painful.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>My hearing seems to be muffled, I hear voices. I feel my mouth moving, a wave of pain with every brush of those hands. Pain, even my eyes scream as they try to protect themselves. They are <em>not</em> helping. The hands bring pain as they grab and wrap around me. My eyes are just as traitorous as those hands.</p><p> </p><p>As cool liquid falls, I can't help but want those gentle hands back, the ones that helped. The only ones that cared. Voices. "You're alright sweetheart." Caring, or at least trying to be soothing, but not nearly as comforting as the one with gentle hands. "We've got you"</p><p> </p><p>Yes.</p><p> </p><p>I can tell.</p><p> </p><p>And it fucking <em>hurts!</em></p><p> </p><p>“We've got —." I don't want you. I don't want any of you. "Hey!" I wish the other one took me away. I wish... no. Not like there's any point. "Come on, sweetheart. You can do it."</p><p> </p><p>I just want darkness.</p><p> </p><p>It's comforting.</p><p> </p><p><em>It</em> won't leave me.</p><p> </p><p>It'll hold me tight</p><p> </p><p>Hopefully <em>it</em> will never let go.</p><p> </p><p>“No. You can do it. Hey!" More frantic noises sound as the colors my eyes protect me from dulls. "Josh get the stretcher, NOW!"I smile at that, turns out I'm not in hell. Demons would just drag me.</p><p> </p><p>And with that notion,</p><p> </p><p>Despair fills me.</p><p> </p><p>Any energy I had dissipates.</p><p> </p><p>“Sweet—"</p><p> </p><p>I'm so tired.</p><p> </p><p>So very tired.</p><p> </p><p>Tired of trying,</p><p> </p><p>Of just<em> ...being.</em></p><p> </p><p>I,</p><p> </p><p>I just want, </p><p> </p><p>I <em>want</em> to feel those gentle hands again.</p><p> </p><p>Hear that voice again.</p><p> </p><p>With the last of my energy I open my eyes a smudge in hopes of catching a small glimpse of that hand. Only to see blobs through the many flashes of pain. "Go—" and with that voice and blob my hopes dashed.</p><p> </p><p>“No! Stay wi—"</p><p> </p><p>And</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>...I let go.</em>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>.</p><p> </p><p>.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sorry for the slow update. I know I mentioned 3 chapters, but I’m splitting ch 2 into two parts, for some reason this just seemed like a good place to stop it. Though cliffhanger, yeah... sorry.</p><p>I’m honestly surprised how much attention ch 1 got. And I can’t help but say thank you. Really all those kudos and comments mean the world.</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Currently I only have chapter 1 typed, but she won’t see Tom till chapter 3.</p>
<p>But I’m looking forward to see where this’ll go. All spelling and grammar mistakes are mine, well.... that and spell check, yeah fun...</p>
<p>Welp, thanks for reading and comments and review are welcomed!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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